Legacy of a Hero

The Hero, Orephius - Hector

In the alabaster spire in the grand towered castle of Eidolon, the Hero Orephius waited on the King.

He was resplendent in shining white plate, with shimmering golden inlay and a blood red cloak. His great axe, Terror, rested along his back. As the champion of Eidolon and High Gladiator for Prince Reynar, he was allowed arms at all times. If there were an attack it would be his responsibility to crush it before it reached the King.

Woe to any fool who made an attempt. Ore was the hero of the realm, and had crushed all opposition on his way to the top.

His mind was not on any of that, though. He tapped his foot impatiently. Sunlight streamed through the great wide windows and lit the empty hallways. Galelea would be incensed at him, but he had to heed the calls of the King. There would be time for training later. Not that he needed it. He had won the grand tournament more than five years in a row now and easily last year. That was a glorious thing. He smiled at the thought of past victories and at the thought of Galelea fuming.

She'd get over it.

Finally, a guard approached, his head down, afraid to look Orephius in the eye. Ore raised a hand in a gesture of friendship.

"The king calls upon your audience, sir," the young man managed to stammer out. Orephius laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. The man stiffened, but Orephius just smiled.

"My thanks," he said. The guard's already pale skin seemed even more pallid as he gaped. Ore could feel the boy trembling beneath his hand. Ore had never gotten used to these people and their strange, timid ways.

He strode into King Deynar's audience room. There was a long, heavy table in the center, made from a huge slab of shell. It looked delicate, with colors swirling just below the surface, but was solid and strong. The king, with his golden beard and flowing white robes, sat on his grand silver throne. A royal purple sash draped over him, giving the man an easy look of authority. Behind him, strangely, stood Lerren.

Lerren was a dark man, long, sharp, and thin as a rapier. Otherwise, he looked much the same as the King. He was bright and shining, in his own golden armor. Lerren wore gilded mail beneath his silver tunic, and a golden shoulder piece and arm guard on his right side. He wore a cloak of a similar, but not quite as deep, color as the king – the royal hue. Lerren was a Duelist, so he wore much less armor than Ore, a Juggernaut.

There were others in the room that Ore didn't recognize, however. A woman in a long black dress with short dark hair, next to her a short, wide man with burning red hair and moustaches. They were each flanked by members of the king's guard. They stood off by themselves and seemed to regard Ore, without acknowledging him.

"I meet you well," said the king with a wide-armed, sweeping gesture, his empty palms held out, as though offering. It was an open motion that Ore returned – a gesture of goodwill and peaceful intentions. He strode over to the near end of the table, far away from the king, and pulled out a heavy chair. He waivered a moment, a smile wide on his face.

"A wonderful day for an audience," Ore said. It was, by Eidolon manners, a neutral statement. It was meant to set a good president for their talk. Orephius was considered a hero to the city and the nobility, but to the other bluebloods he was rough around the edges, and often thought of as curt and uncivilized. "I trust all is well." Meaningless comments. Ore knew what people said of him, but it was difficult sometimes to play their political games. Ore often grew tired of these people and their strange, round-about way of speaking. They'd rather he spit at the king than just ask a damn question. Instead, he sat, as was expected of him and reclined, which made Lerren's face twitch in annoyance. Ore smiled at that.